


His Own Medicine

by Minuial_Nuwing



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Mistletoe in May 2006, Third Age, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:06:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minuial_Nuwing/pseuds/Minuial_Nuwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrohir decides to show Elladan just how it feels to be replaced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Own Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sim in the Mistletoe in May Exchange 2006
> 
> Request: _twincest, misunderstanding, jealousy, angst, a tempestuous brawl and a steamy make-up sex afterwards_
> 
> Warnings: Explicit twincest, brawling between brothers, a bit of blood in a non-sexual context
> 
> Beta: the incredible Fimbrethiel
> 
> *****************************************************************************************

Elrohir’s hands tightened on the stone balustrade, his knuckles whitening as he watched his brother below. With every curl of Elladan’s lips, every arch of an ebony eyebrow, every careless stoke of his twin’s fingers through mithril-pale hair, Elrohir felt his anger swell until it seemed a living beast, twisting and snarling in his chest. 

That he knew his jealously to be a source of gentle amusement to Elladan did nothing to ease its sting. The elder twin was seemingly untouched by the vague insecurities and fears that plagued lesser beings, never doubting, never questioning Elrohir’s devotion. 

Never knowing the gut-wrenching fear that so possessed the elf-knight at such moments. The fear of losing all – lover, confidante, brother, soul’s mate. 

His eyes narrowing, Elrohir watched his brother’s hand slide down to cup the willowy Galadhel’s legging-clad buttocks. _‘Until now,’_ he promised himself. _‘He has never feared ‘til now.’_

************

The fortnight that followed was easily the worst fourteen days of Elladan’s life. 

Orophin was charming, lovely, utterly submissive...he was, in fact, everything Elladan sought in his private flings. But there was one thing the young warden was not. 

He was not Elrohir. 

And Elrohir himself was conspicuously absent from their shared bed, no matter how early – or late – Elladan slipped back to his own chambers, his skin and hair reeking of lemongrass and the faint, spicy scent of Lórien. 

During the day Elrohir seemed himself, affectionate and cheerful, though he spent more and more time in the company of the visiting Galadhil, training with them each afternoon and joining them in the bathing pools afterward. He had also begun sitting near the end of the high table at meals, often flanked by Haldir and one of the Silvan diplomats. 

_Haldir._

Blonde, beautiful, and possessed of a subtle arrogance that set Elladan’s teeth on edge, though he had never been bothered by the marchwarden before. Indeed, he remembered many invigorating days spent on the archery range under that exacting hazel gaze, days when the fact that he and Elrohir were the grandsons of the Lord and Lady gained them little more than higher expectations. 

But now... 

Now the proud profile, the flexing muscles visible even beneath Haldir’s dress tunic, the low melodic voice, all seemed designed for naught but to draw Elladan’s attention to what was – to the elder twin, at least - the Galadhel’s most ominous trait. 

Haldir was unquestionably, undeniably, in charge...a leader. _Dominant._

The chimes pealed, calling the diners to further revelry in the Hall of Fire. Elladan met Orophin’s inquisitive look with a half-hearted smile, his attention focused on the far end of the table where Elrohir and Haldir were just rising from their seats. Elladan watched openly, his mouth going dry as his brother leaned into Haldir, whispering, and the Galadhel’s arm curled possessively around Elrohir’s waist, one bow-callused hand coming to rest on the sharp ridge of his hipbone. 

A heartbeat later Elladan’s chair clattered to the floor, sending the dining hall into a stunned silence. Ignoring the stares and uneasy murmuring, he stalked the length of the table to stand before his brother. “Pardon me, Haldir,” he ground out, his gaze never leaving the elf-knight. “A word, if you please, _Elrohir._ ” 

Without waiting for a reply, Elladan turned and strode from the room, thus missing the flash of triumph that lit Elrohir’s eyes, as well as the glance of amused resignation that passed between Haldir and Orophin. 

************

Elrohir stood in astonishment, struck dumb by the viciousness of his brother’s tirade. Even in the darkest moments of uncertainty, when smote by the fiercest pangs of jealousy, he had never thought to speak to his beloved twin as Elladan was speaking to him now. 

That Elladan – after little more than a taste of his own medicine – saw fit to attack his soul’s mate in such a way shattered the last vestiges of Elrohir’s restraint. 

_“How dare you?”_ he hissed, giving Elladan a shove that caused the elder twin to stumble before regaining his footing. “When you have spent these many years dallying with whatever star-struck, empty-headed, unprincipled _tart_ you could lure into your bed?” 

“Careful, tôren” Elladan spat, his eyes glittering with rage and some other, yet unnamed emotion. “You insult some we have both come to call friend...” 

“And you do not insult _me_ with your ranting?” 

Elladan did not answer, stepping nearer to grip Elrohir’s arm painfully. “And whether they are friend or naught but a tumble, they come to me, tôr dithen. I do not give chase, nor tolerate their pawing at table, nor spread myself like a...” 

Elrohir jerked away, his eyes narrowing. “Exactly what are you accusing me of, Elladan?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft. 

“You gave him what is _mine!_ ” 

The sharp crack of fist on jaw took both twins by surprise. Not since their earliest years, when they had brawled over the biggest piece of pie or the strongest willow bow, had one struck the other. Raising a hand to his smarting cheek, Elladan stared at his brother in disbelief for an instant before launching himself at Elrohir. 

Enraged curses rose like clouds of smoke over the writhing elves as each struggled for dominance in a match of equals. 

The dull thud of wood on stone heralded the fall of a side table, the brittle tinkle of breaking glass the demise of a filled decanter. Rivulets of the best Dorwinion to be had in the realm ran unnoticed over floor and rugs, soaking at last into leather leggings and torn tunics. 

“You do not _own_ me!” Elrohir growled, gaining a moment’s supremacy as he came to rest astride his brother’s hips. “I am no toy to be taken out and fondled when you have a fancy, _melethron._ ” 

Elladan twisted fluidly, reversing their positions with a satisfied grunt. Grabbing Elrohir’s wrists, he slammed them to the ground, his bark of triumph aborted by a sharp yelp of pain from Elrohir. 

All anger forgotten, Elladan stared in horror as a stream of scarlet cut through the deep red of the spilled wine. “’Roh?” he said, pulling the ashen-faced elf-knight up to sit against the bedstead. “What...” 

“My hand,” Elrohir replied tersely, turning his arm to reveal a large shard of broken crystal driven deeply into the edge of his palm. 

“Oh, Valar, tôren,” Elladan breathed, staring as though he had never before seen blood nor wound, “I did not mean...” 

“Just get the glass out,” Elrohir managed through gritted teeth. “It will be fine.” 

“Let me fetch Ada...” 

_“Elladan!”_

The exasperated call stopped the elder twin cold. “Aye?” 

“For the love of Elbereth, just _pull out the shard,_ ” Elrohir snapped, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. “Before I bleed to death. Or humiliate myself by fainting.” 

His training as a healer coming back to the fore, Elladan urged his brother up off the floor and into a chair. Ripping a dangling piece from his own torn tunic, he laid the cloth over the sliver of crystal sticking from Elrohir’s hand and tugged sharply, the shard pulling free in a fresh spurt of blood. Elladan quickly tossed away the glass, pressing the cloth over the wound. “Hold this,” he ordered, placing his brother’s hand over the makeshift dressing. “I must get a towel and some binding.” Pushing the elf-knight’s head down toward his legs, Elladan added, “Put your head between your knees if you feel weak.” 

With a murmured reply Elrohir leaned over, his dark hair sweeping the floor as he forced himself to breathe deeply, warding off the grey fog that danced at the periphery of his vision. In what seemed only seconds Elladan was back with water, towel and binding, and Elrohir’s injured hand was securely wrapped, the bleeding stopped and the world quickly coming back into focus. 

“What?” Elrohir queried, his brow furrowing as he watched Elladan clean up the glass, blood and wine from the stone floor. “I did not hear you clearly, tôren.” 

“I asked what you said,” Elladan repeated, kneeling before his brother and offering a small glass of miruvor. “When I suggested that you lower your head, you mumbled something I did not quite understand.” 

Though Elrohir’s face was still far too pale, his grin was as cheeky as ever. “I said it would be much preferable to have _your_ head between my knees.” 

“That can likely be arranged,” Elladan replied with a chuckle, moving closer to rest his head against Elrohir’s stomach. “I am sorry, ‘Roh.” 

“I am sorry, also,” Elrohir answered, his uninjured hand moving to stroke his brother’s tangled hair. “But, Blessed Eru, ‘Dan...how can you fault me for seeking amusement elsewhere when you have done so for centuries? And Haldir is certainly not the first I have sported with.” 

“I know,” Elladan said quietly, and for the first time Elrohir put a name to the other emotion that flickered in his lover’s eyes. Hurt, colored by deep remorse. “I have given you abundant reason, but...the thought that you...that he...” here Elladan’s voice faltered and stilled for a moment. “I have never allowed another to take me...in that I am yours alone.” 

“In Haldir you see a replacement, then? One who could usurp your place in my life?” Elrohir prodded, though his eyes were kind. 

“Aye,” Elladan breathed, a single tear finally escaping to wind its way down his bruised cheek. 

“Then you at last understand what I have felt every time you left our bed for another,” Elrohir said gently, tears standing in his own eyes. “Always I have feared that _this_ would be the one to take you from me. The one more amusing, more beautiful, more submissive...the one who would steal your heart as well as your body.” 

“My heart has already been stolen,” Elladan replied, tears flowing in earnest, “by the one who completes me. It is no longer mine to offer.” He wrapped his arms around his brother’s waist, burrowing closer, rocking against the strong form like a child seeking comfort. For many long moments there was no sound save the squeak of leather and the soothing murmur of Elrohir’s voice. Then Elladan lifted his head uncertainly. “Forgive me, tôren.” 

“Always,” Elrohir promised, bending to press a lingering kiss to his lover’s mouth before sliding his hand into Elladan’s hair to rub the tender curve of an ear. “Now,” he ordered, grey eyes gleaming darkly as he pulled away to strip off his shredded tunic, “remind me why I am yours.” 

“And why I am yours,” Elladan agreed, reaching for his brother’s laces. “ _That_ I am yours, always.” 

Elrohir closed his eyes as his knees were forced apart and silken hair brushed his chest and stomach, making way for a wet tongue that traced ridged muscles and lapped at his nipples teasingly before plunging into his navel, the suggestive movement drawing a delighted groan. No one’s mouth was like Elladan’s... 

_Indeed?_

The amused whisper sounded in Elrohir’s head, and he opened his eyes to meet his brother’s sparkling gaze. “Indeed,” he gasped, bucking up as the promising warmth traveled lower and Elladan’s chin nudged his hardening shaft. “Now stop playing!” 

A shouted oath shattered the quiet of the chamber, followed by the sonorous drone of labored breathing and the occasional slurping click of Elladan’s tongue. Suddenly his arousal slipped from between Elladan’s lips with a wet ‘pop’, and the elf-knight glared at his brother in disbelief. Then Elrohir felt hands on his hips, urging him up, and he pressed his elbows into the chair arms, lifting his weight so that his leggings could be shoved unceremoniously to his ankles. 

Looking down, Elrohir shuddered at the erotic sight before him. Ebony strands draped his legs, sliding smoothly over pale skin as he was taken again and again into Elladan’s mouth, the skilled tongue and teeth pushing him ever closer to the edge. The flickers of pleasure began to coil tightly, low in his belly, and he lost the battle to remain still, rocking his hips upward to push further into the caressing warmth. “Coming,” he moaned, his back arching reflexively, “I am _coming_...” 

Elladan relaxed his throat, swallowing his brother’s release with an ease born of long practice. Gently pulling Elrohir’s hands from his hair, he licked and nuzzled the softening shaft, one hand tugging impatiently at his own lacings. With a growl of frustration he pulled away, ripping off the remains of his tunic and jerking open his leggings. “I cannot wait,” he rasped, shuddering as he spread the leaking fluids over his aching arousal. 

Elrohir met the coal-black gaze and smiled slightly, turning to slide to his knees before the chair. Bracing his arms on the seat cushion, he looked over his shoulder, taking in his brother’s heaving chest and passion-flushed cheeks. “Then do not,” he purred, spreading his legs as far as the twisted leggings would allow. “Take me.” 

The sight of his twin offering himself so blatantly eroded the last of Elladan’s control. Molding himself to Elrohir’s back, he entered the snug passage in one sure push, not stopping until he was seated deeply in his lover’s body. 

Elrohir hissed at the sudden invasion, then sighed as his body relaxed and his brother began to move in deep, forceful thrusts. He felt the jagged edges of his soul meld with Elladan’s, and his twin’s desperate hunger rushed over him, re-igniting his own need. Elladan’s movements became more erratic with impending climax and Elrohir pushed back aggressively, the litany of curses and promises that spilled from his mouth changing to wordless whimpers when a slick hand closed around his reawakened shaft. 

Elladan sat back on his own heels as he felt the first ripples of completion rush over his body, dragging his brother into his lap with a hoarse groan. His hand moved furiously on Elrohir’s straining arousal even as his own groin tightened painfully and he spilled with a muffled howl, sinking his teeth into Elrohir’s shoulder as his seed filled the convulsing channel. Startled by the sudden shift of position, Elrohir let go a shouted oath as he settled against his lover’s thighs, the deep penetration and rush of Elladan’s release bringing on his own fierce climax. The fist that encircled him continued to move lazily, stripping every last drop from his still twitching shaft. 

“By the _Valar_ ,” Elrohir breathed shakily, when at last he was able to raise himself off his brother and curl into the offered embrace, “that was incredible.” 

Elladan mumbled sleepily, exhausted by both the emotional outburst and vigorous loving. “Aye,” he agreed, his face buried in the elf-knight’s tousled hair. “But may we rest now?” 

Elrohir looked up, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. 

“We may,” he allowed. “But had I known making amends to be so sweet, tôren, I would have given you a taste of your own medicine centuries ago.” 

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

tôr dithen – little brother  
tôren – my brother  
melethron – lover  
  



End file.
